


True Love Lies

by SlightlyTwistedSilverware, WelshWitch1011



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Doctor/Clara - Freeform, F/M, Spoilers!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-12 04:29:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4465496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlightlyTwistedSilverware/pseuds/SlightlyTwistedSilverware, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WelshWitch1011/pseuds/WelshWitch1011
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Accepting Clara's Christmas Day invitation leads the Doctor and his Impossible Girl to a series of unexpected discoveries. Secrets are revealed and old wounds are re-opened as the Time Lord finally unravels the only mystery worth solving. AU from Time of the Doctor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Driving Home For Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Here is the part where we point out that we own nothing except for a splendid array of Eleventh Doctor merchandise, and a deep, abiding love for Clara/Eleven and the glorious Ponds.

Clara Oswald had become obsessed with time.

Not the non-linear, wibbly wobbly kind she frequently found herself travelling through, but the kind that involved cooking instructions and food preparation.

Minutes per pound, chilling time, par-boiling and other similarly foreign phrases filled her head, and the self-confessed control freak found herself unwillingly flirting with the idea of a panic attack.

At least Clara assumed that this was what a panic attack felt like, if the frantic beating of her heart, sweaty palms and feelings of intermittent nausea were anything to go by.

Steadying herself with a deep breath, Clara peered down at the oven, hands on either side of the counter.

"Right. Sprouts are boiling, pigs are in their blankets..." she bent to open the oven door and cast a quick glance inside, "potatoes are roasting..."

She lifted the lid on a small saucepan, sarcasm creeping into her voice as she added,"And the gravy's... congealing nicely. Brilliant."

A metal pan containing an unnatural number of sprouts hissed and spat as it bubbled furiously on the stove top, sending wafts of steam up into the air that gently persuaded the line of yellow post-it notes stuck to the cabinet door above to come unstuck. Clara watched her cooking instructions drift to the ground with an exasperated sigh, plucking the remaining papers from their make-shift perch whilst trying not to scald her hand.

The prospect of the local A&E on Christmas Day was distinctly unappealing, although she suspected third degree burns might be slightly less painful than the afternoon that lay ahead of her.

Clara checked the kitchen clock yet again, grimacing as her temples began to throb dully, a tell tale sign that a migraine was brewing.

"Doctor, where are you?!" she muttered to herself, lifting a glass of sherry from the counter and taking a liberal swig of the too-sweet liquid that had been a special festive purchase for her grandmother.

She was sure that Christmas dinner was not meant to be this stressful a proposition, yet as she listened to the gentle chatter of her father, grandmother and loathed step-mother drift in from the living room, her stomach lunged once more in dread.

Hurrying over to the window, she cast a glance over the fields surrounding her block of flats, and her annoyance piqued as she saw no sign of the errant Doctor or the turkey he had promised to salvage.

In some respects she considered him the saviour of this dinner; not only rescuing her diners from a date with salmonella, but also keeping her from a plethora of questions about her flagging love life.

Her step-mother loved nothing more than to interrogate the young woman about her dating prospects, and so Clara had hoped that having the Doctor pose as her boyfriend would silence her on the subject - temporarily at least.

Besides, Clara was secretly thrilled at the prospect of spending Christmas with her beloved Doctor; not that she'd tell him that. There'd be no living with him if he realised the extent of her affections.

Although sometimes, she suspected his adoration exceeded hers.

A telling smile tugged at her lips, but before Clara could descend any further into a day-dream comprised of languid kisses and declarations of love, the doorbell promptly brought her to her senses.

"Don't worry, I'll go!"

Dashing from the kitchen, holding her green paper crown in place with one hand, Clara rushed to the front door and threw it open.

"Did somebody order a turkey?" the Doctor whispered, grinning lopsidedly at his assistant, who grabbed the lapels of his jacket and hauled him rather unceremoniously over the threshold of the doorway.

"You! Where have you been?" Clara demanded in a hiss, letting go of the Doctor with one hand and using the other to propel him at speed through the hallway and towards the kitchen, where he could deposit the turkey without being seen.

"Everything alright in there, C lara dear?" a high, grating feminine voice trilled from the lounge, where the sound of the television was not nearly loud enough to drown out her stepmother.

Clara knocked back another generous slug of sherry and gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to grind them.

"Absolutely fine, thanks Linda," she called back with forced cheer that elicited a knowing smirk from the Doctor. Clara simply pointed one finger at him in warning and the Time Lord's smile faltered.

"How many times have I told you, darling? Call me Mum!" Linda replied in a sing song voice. Clara's hand tightened around the handle of the kitchen knife resting on the nearby counter top and the Doctor took a subconscious step backwards, before folding his arms and leaning against the cupboard.

"Well, what do you think?" he inquired, beaming at Clara who frowned in confusion, evidently missing the point. For a moment, the Doctor appeared faintly hurt, his eyebrows knitting together as he touched the corners of his bow tie. He glanced down at the turkey, perfectly golden brown and lightly steaming upon the kitchen table, and Clara's eyes widened.

"Oh that... yeah, thanks..." she recovered, her voice distinctly lacking a note of enthusiasm as she added, "that's a... erm... handsome turkey."

The Doctor straightened up and immediately his demeanour altered, his lips curving into a pleased smile and his eyes sparkling in the florescent kitchen light.

"Well, it's all in the seasoning," he admitted, cocking his head. Clara nodded, making soft sounds of affirmation as she squinted at his bow tie.

"Are those Christmas puddings on your bow tie?" she demanded, suddenly all business, "I mean, I thought we agreed smart-casual."

"Bow ties are smart-casual," the Doctor defended, pouting just a little as he regarded Clara, who crossed her arms.

"Maybe if you're at clown school," Clara retorted. "Novelty bow ties were not part of the deal. I'd have remembered that."

"Oi! Bow ties are..." the Doctor began, wrinkling his nose as he suddenly detected a faintly offensive aroma. "Burning!"

Clara peered up at him askance as he sniffed at the air, "Yeah, I'd totally burn that thing. Someone needs to put it out of its misery."

The Doctor deflected her barb by holding up a finger in a bid to silence her.

"The gravy is burning."

He directed her gaze to the small saucepan and failed to conceal a slightly smug grin as her mouth opened into a wide 'o' and her eyes widened in abject horror.

Clara leapt toward the stove, grabbing at the pan handle and wrenching it from the hob.

"What? No! No, no, no, no! Doctor, what am I going to do? This is a disaster!" she howled, trying determinedly to scrape at the bottom of the pan with a wooden spoon. The distinct smell of charcoal wafted up to her nostrils and Clara flung the spoon into the offending pan in defeat.

The Doctor watched her fondly, his eyes alive with a sentiment that even a casual onlooker would have easily identified as adoration. He cleared his throat, mindful of the altogether romantic direction his thoughts had seemed to have taken as of late.

No, actually. That wasn't strictly true. He feared he'd been having those sorts of thoughts about Clara Oswald ever since a pretty young governess had pressed her lips to his. Or maybe it had been their first encounter in the Dalek asylum, although he couldn't be entirely sure.

One thing he was sure about, however, was that this was neither the place nor time for self-reflection. A Christmas dinner needed saving, and he wasn't about to stand by and watch a culinary disaster unfold before him.

Sighing for effect, the Doctor shrugged out of his jacket before draping it on the kitchen counter. He opened the buttons on his shirt cuffs and began to roll his sleeves up to his elbows with a little more haste, before his hands finally came to land on Clara's shoulders.

His fingers curled around the tops of her arms gently and he gave them a reassuring squeeze, noticing their proximity to each other only when Clara glanced up to meet his gaze. They were almost standing toe to toe and the apples of Clara's cheeks flushed pink as she peered up into his face.

Smiling at her gently, the Doctor directed her to one of the chairs arranged around the kitchen table with a mischievous wink, "Step aside, Clara. I'm a professional!"

She shot him a withering yet wholly grateful look, and scooted into the chair to allow the Doctor to stand over the oven.

"Clara? Love, can I smell something burning?"

Clara groaned, inclining her head toward the closed kitchen door as she shouted back, "No Gran, everything's fine!"

Rubbing his hands together, the Doctor discarded the charred saucepan and deposited it in the sink, before he turned his attention back to the task at hand.

"Right then. I'm going to need another saucepan, a whisk, gravy granules, a dash of port, a teaspoon of sugar, and... ooh, some of those rum balls with the chocolate sprinkles on the outside!"

Clara emerged from digging through her cupboard with a perplexed and wholly apprehensive look on her face that the Doctor instantly deflected with a warm smile that practically defied her to argue with him.

Arching an eyebrow, Clara folded her arms across her chest.

"I'm sorry... Rum balls?" she checked, wondering if she had indeed heard his request correctly.

She sincerely hoped this wasn't a recipe to rival fish fingers and custard.

Her paper crown chose that moment to descend over her eyes and she shoved roughly at it as her annoyance mounted. The Doctor eyed her closely, reaching out and lifting the offending item back into place, letting his fingers crest across her skin and his thumb brush against her cheek as he did so.

Clara felt a shiver ascend her spine. She hoped the almost unbearable heat in the kitchen would excuse the blush she was sure coloured her face in a very festive shade of red. If the Doctor had noticed, he hadn't let on - much to her relief.

"Eh, I like this!" he nodded toward her crown with obvious approval, "I do enjoy a good hat, you know. You haven't got a spare fez have you? I feel practically under-dressed here."

"Oddly enough, no," Clara replied, smiling briefly at the disappointed 'oh' that left his lips.

Hurriedly passing him the ingredients he had requested - with the obvious exception of the rum balls - Clara gestured toward the clock with the whisk in her hand, a heartfelt plea poised on her lips that was never permitted to escape.

Because at that moment, the kitchen door swung open suddenly and her father poked his head into the room.

"Clara, have you got any more lemonade? Your Gran wants a Snowball and..." he paused mid-sentence, drawing himself up to his full height as his eyes shifted from his daughter to the man beside her.

"Uhm..." Dave Oswald began uncertainly, his gaze sweeping the bizarrely dressed stranger, who promptly abandoned the bottle of port he held in exchange for Clara's hand.

"Could someone please tell me what's going on here?"

"He's my boyfriend," Clara blurted out, raising their interlocked hands and forcing a smile as she stared at her father, her expression half way to terrified. Dave regarded his daughter and one eyebrow immediately shot up. He leaned back against the door frame and folded his arms, empty glass still in hand.

"Yep, that's me... the 'boyfriend'," the Doctor declared, letting out a chuckle that did little to lighten the tense atmosphere that had descended. "The old 'ball and chain'."

"That's husband," Clara whispered, shooting a glare at the Doctor, "slow down there, chin boy, you're getting ahead of yourself."

"Dave Oswald," the older man (by appearances at least) stated as he stepped forward and extended his hand. The Doctor accepted the handshake with his usual degree of overenthusiastic vigour, shaking so hard that Dave struggled to remain upright for a moment.

"I'm the Doctor," he replied through his still too wide smile, seemingly oblivious to the confused look Dave directed at him.

"Doctor what?" he inquired, his expression betraying his bemusement.

"Brown... Doctor Brown," Clara blurted out, wincing as she hoped her father would not notice the pop-culture reference that had tumbled from her lips before she had properly thought it through.

"Yes, er... Doctor Marty Brown," the Doctor instantly agreed, taking a moment to adjust his bow tie and unfortunately succeeding in drawing Dave's gaze to it. His eyes locked on the tiny, round puddings decorating the crimson fabric and the creases in his forehead deepened as his brow furrowed.

"Doc Brown?" he repeated, unable to suspend his disbelief even for his beloved only daughter.

"Particularly cruel parents, big sci-fi fans" the Doctor supplied helpfully, feigning a distraught expression as he peered back at Clara's father.

"He makes a mean gravy?" Clara added weakly, allowing her statement to slip out as more of a question, much to her own chagrin. She swallowed hard, wondering if the constricting feeling she was currently experiencing in her chest could possibly be the beginnings of a heart attack.

The Doctor cleared his throat uncomfortably, feeling the intensity of Dave Oswald's stare almost bore a hole through his skull. He hadn't expected quite such a degree of hostility when he had accepted Clara's invitation, but then he supposed a father had every right to be protective of his little girl. After all, he had been a father once himself.

"Lemonade," the Doctor said through a tight smile, turning to Clara only to discover that she had made no attempt to move and had instead adopted a 'deer in the headlights' expression, which was affording little credibility to their already flimsy story.

"Lemonade?" Clara repeated, suddenly blinking rapidly as she recalled the purpose of her father's visit, "right, yeah! Lemonade!"

Throwing open the fridge, Clara wheeled around and practically flung the bottle at her father, letting go of the Doctor's hand in order to then shepherd Dave towards the kitchen door.

"Dinner's almost ready so you go and sit back down, yeah? We'll be right with you."

"Absolutely. Right with you," the Doctor echoed, throwing his arm around Clara's shoulders and pulling her against his side in what he hoped resembled a sign of togetherness.

Dave nodded and wrapped his hand around the doorknob but at the last moment, he froze, turning to regard the younger man with a confused frown, "Have we met before? You just... you look familiar."

The Doctor shook his head, "Oh, I shouldn't think so, no. I've just got one of those faces."

Mustering her most persuasive smile, Clara leant into the Doctor's side - both in an attempt to keep up their rouse and to draw some comfort.

Obviously sceptical, Dave offered the Doctor a hesitant nod before he made his way back to the living room, casting a backwards glance at the couple as he did so.

Clara watched the door swing closed with a sinking feeling settling in the pit of her stomach, and she turned and leant her forehead against the Doctor's shoulder with an audible groan that she hoped accurately expressed her misery.

"Well, that wasn't too bad!" the Doctor enthused jovially, "could have been much, much worse."

Shaking her head, Clara straightened up and affixed the Doctor with an almost accusatory stare.

"You need to work on your definition of 'worse', sunshine," she growled, poking him sharply in the centre of his chest with one manicured fingernail as she added as an afterthought, "and your people skills."

"I've always thought I had very good people skills," the Doctor countered quietly, his eyes suddenly ticking to the finger still jabbing his chest with merciless abandon.

He struggled to thwart the smile that twitched at his lips as he gently but firmly seized Clara's hand in his own, and rotated it so that her fingers were splayed out almost in front of his nose. As he took in the sight of the tiny red and green bow ties painted on her lacquered fingernails, he felt his two hearts flutter in perfect synchronisation in his chest. The apples of Clara's cheeks grew pink again and she tilted her chin downwards but did not attempt to extract her hand.

Slowly and gently, the Doctor brushed the pad of his thumb over her skin.

"See, bow ties are cool," he insisted, his grin infectious as he added, "now, let's see if we can salvage that gravy, eh?"


	2. Chapter 2

The turkey smouldered in the centre of the perfectly set table, surrounded by dishes of expertly cooked vegetables, glittering crackers and small, white gravy boats filled with a plethora of sauces - half of which would undoubtedly not be touched by the assembled diners, and yet were an essential part of any Christmas dinner nonetheless. In all her twenty-seven years, Clara had never met a single person who had professed to tolerate bread sauce, but it nestled in the centre of the table anyway just as it had done every other year since she had been a little girl.

For just a moment, Clara was propelled back to her childhood, her smile nostalgic as she recalled the gleeful manner in which her mother had approached Christmas year after year. The holiday season had never gotten old to Ellie Oswald, even when Clara herself had grown into a teenager and become too sullen and preoccupied with split ends and her cuticles to really much care what was going on around her. There were certain traditions that were upheld year after year in the Oswald household, without fail and without protest; the first day of December was always a flurry of activity when the tree was erected and the halls were decked, every member of the household was to wake promptly at 7 am on Christmas morning, and a surplus place would be set at the dinner table each year, just in case of an unexpected visitor. The latter was something that Ellie Oswald insisted upon without ever really explaining why and every once in a while, when she was feeling particularly rebellious, Clara had neglected to set that extra place, just to see what would happen. Predictably, her mother would simply wait for her to leave the room before she arranged the extra setting herself, and not a single word more would be spoken about it.

Clara felt her own smile faltering as an unexpected wave of sorrow crashed over her at the thought of her mother. She cast her gaze downward at her plate, almost oblivious to the sounds of chatter and cutlery striking china that surrounded her as she struggled to sniff back the tears that threatened to betray her.

She started suddenly as a turkey leg was slapped down onto the plate before her, wrenching her eyes upwards and forcing her to meet the Doctor's kind, vaguely understanding gaze.

"Bon appetite," he said gently and softly, his fingertips brushing the back of Clara's hand where it rested upon the table next to the brussel sprouts. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Clara nodded and forced a responding smile.

As if reading her mind, the Doctor held her gaze for a moment, his eyes reflecting so much concern and affection that the sob already close to escaping her lips became more difficult to contain. Her smile grew as he leant closer and wordlessly pressed a kiss against her forehead; and then almost as quickly, the moment was over, and he was staring excitedly over the table with childlike glee.

"Oooh bread sauce!" he enthused, lifting the jug toward his plate as Clara laughed and made a mental note to add 'the Doctor' to her otherwise unpopulated list of bread sauce aficionados. She gazed up at him perhaps longer than she intended, but sometimes she found it difficult to tear her eyes away from his face, particularly when he looked at her in that way - the one that made her stomach dip and her toes curl, and allowed her heart to hope that the universe might somehow afford her a happy ending.

Linda peered across the table at them curiously, her attention not going unnoticed by either Clara or the Doctor. Certainly her eyes seemed to have been strangely drawn to the latter all afternoon, and he now appeared just as interested in her as she was in him. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something about Linda Oswald made his well-honed Time Lord senses tingle. He'd already decided to have this matter resolved by the dessert course. In his experience, Christmas pudding and analytical reasoning resulted in absolutely appalling heartburn.

"Oh, now look at you two," Gran beamed, regarding Clara and her 'boyfriend' with a sentimental smile. The old woman had taken quite a shine to the Doctor, charmed by his manners, quick wit, and kindly disposition. Although as she'd stated earlier, much to Dave's chagrin, there was a mischievous twinkle in the young man's eye that intrigued her and led her to suspect that her grand-daughter had perhaps met her match.

Linda sat forward in her seat, wine glass in hand as she dragged her gaze slowly between the young couple. She sighed out loud at the sight of the vacant seat on the other side of Gran's chair and rolled her eyes as she saw Clara had once again mindlessly followed her mother's rather eccentric tradition.

Clara followed the path of Linda's gaze and cleared her throat in abject annoyance. Gesturing to the jug near her father's plate, she smiled pointedly at Dave.

"Dad, can you pass the gravy please?"

Dave Oswald appeared not to hear, however, seemingly lost in his thoughts as he stared down at the untouched food on his plate. After a moment, he lifted a worryingly vacant gaze to his daughter and shook his head in confusion.

"Sorry, what love?"

Clara frowned and arched an eyebrow at her father, concern evident in her eyes.

"Are you okay, Dad?" she inquired softly, watching as he began rubbing at his temples.

"Yeah... yeah... just getting a blinder of a headache," he explained, shaking his head with renewed vigour as if to dispel the pain by force.

"Can I get you anything, darling?" Linda demanded, suddenly leaning forward and resting a territorial hand atop her husband's arm. Clara slumped back in her seat, aware that her expression was likely petulant but not particularly caring.

"No, I'm sure I'll be fine," Dave replied, barely acknowledging his wife and instead staring rather intently at the Doctor. "Probably just... hungry."

"Oh this looks and smells wonderful, Doctor," Gran stated, her smile growing wider as the Doctor glanced in her direction and offered her a wink. "You are a clever boy, helping Clara throw all of this together."

"Careful, Gran, or he'll get a big head," Clara joked, shooting her grandmother a warm smile before looking back at the Doctor, who was almost puffing out his chest in pride as he took in the sight of his culinary accomplishment spread out across the table.

Gran shook her head and pointed a finger sternly at Clara as she insisted, "You hold onto this one, Clara. I've never seen roast potatoes so crispy!"

Clara snorted in amusement, taking a sip of her wine to mask her smirk as her step-mother only curled her lip in a scornful expression once again.

Ignoring the other woman's apparent irritation, the Doctor peered over the turkey carcass at Gran and tapped the side of his nose as he lowered his voice to a whisper, declaring, "Semolina, that's the secret, and lots of it."

Gran winked and let out a girlish giggle, as if she was honoured to be privy to such secrets. Delicately cutting into a potato with her knife and fork, she placed a piece in her mouth and hummed in approval.

Grinning at her grandmother's escalating crush, Clara followed suite and speared a piece of golden potato with her fork. She examined it briefly before popping it into her mouth, watched by the Doctor, who was evidently seeking her approval.

"So?" he rubbed his hands together, his anticipation palpable.

Chewing and swallowing, Clara arched a dark brow and shrugged, trying desperately to hold back the smile she knew he was awaiting.

"Got any more hidden talents you want to share with me, Doctor?!" her tone was flirtatious, she realised too late.

Suddenly considering what she had just said, Clara spluttered around her mouthful of food, feeling all eyes on her as her face grew as red as the paper crown on her grandmother's head. She picked up her glass of wine and swallowed down a hearty gulp until the prospect of choking seemed less likely.

The Doctor grinned, clearing his throat as he allowed his own thoughts to briefly wander, and a blush tainted his cheeks as a consequence. Recovering admirably, he tapped Clara on the tip of the nose, his eyes creased at the corners by the teasing smile he wore as he recalled her earlier remark.

"Careful, Miss Oswald, you're getting ahead of yourself."

The playful banter that flowed so easily between them seemed not to have been dampened by their current surroundings and, feeling braver than she knew she should in such circumstances, Clara held his gaze.

"Always got to be one step ahead of you, Doctor. You usually catch up in the end, though, eh?"

Cocking his head, he nodded at the truth in her words. Clara Oswald had always been one step ahead of him throughout his many lifetimes. Why it had taken so long for him to notice her he couldn't possibly say, or why this, his eleventh incarnation, had been the one to finally surrender to the universe's plans he also could never quite figure out.

"I don't know why. I just know who."

And he had. He had always known with Clara - known with absolute certainty from the very beginning that she was meant to be beside him. Whilst the Doctor wasn't entirely sure that it was even a possibility, he had begun to think that the fates had brought them together and, for once, he was inclined not to argue.

"Well, I can occasionally be incredibly dense," he allowed, enjoying their prolonged eye contact far too much to stop now, "but..."

From the far side of the dining table, Dave let out frighteningly anguished cry and threw his head into his hands, gritting his teeth against the pain that suddenly struck him. The Doctor stood up, knocking his fork onto the floor, and even Gran abandoned her search through the TV channels for the Queen's Speech to glance up at her son in-law.

"Dad?" Clara jumped up out of her seat, almost upsetting her wine glass in her haste to reach him, "Dad, are you okay?"

She crouched beside him and placed her hand on his arm, "Dad? Is it one of your headaches?"

Through a clenched jaw, Dave let out a noise of strangled affirmation, and Clara soon found herself ushered from her father's side by Linda, who wrapped her fingers around her husband's upper arm and hauled him to his feet.

"I'll take him for a little lie down," Linda explained, shooting a pointed look at Clara over her shoulder as she added, "no need to worry, I have it all under control, dear. You all just carry on."

Huffing in irritation, Clara sauntered back to her seat and watched through narrowed eyes as her step-mother lead her father towards her own bedroom doorway.

"There's ibuprofen in the top dresser drawer," Clara called out as an afterthought, taking another sip of her wine and then pausing to peer dejectedly into the depths of the glass.

"Like I said, all under control," Linda shouted back in the same previous sing song tone that had set every last one of Clara's nerves on edge.

Grumbling unintelligibly under her breath, Clara pushed her plate away and slumped back in her chair, her gaze drifting back to the empty place set at the table. For just a moment, she imagined her mother occupying it, throwing her head back in laughter as she sipped at her favourite white wine and stole sausages directly from her husband's plate. The image was enough to constrict her heart and Clara looked away quickly, finding something out the window to focus her gaze upon instead.

"Not exactly how you planned the afternoon to go," the Doctor stated, stealing Clara's attention and offering her a small but warm smile.

"Not exactly, no," agreed Clara, picking up her fork again and scratching at the china pattern on her plate with feigned indifference. None of her crockery matched anyway so Clara hardly supposed it mattered.

"Is she always so..." the Doctor began, trailing off and shaking his head as words evaded him for the moment.

Arching a brow, Clara inquired, "Who now?"

"Your..." the Doctor began, then seeming to think better of it, finished, "Linda."

He levelled a stare at the corridor down which Clara's father and step mother had disappeared, scratching his chin in an almost thoughtful manner.

"Condescending? Cold-hearted? Mean? An obnoxious old cow?" she took a sip of wine as if trying to banish a bad taste from her mouth, "pretty much, yeah."

The Doctor nodded thoughtfully, pressing his hands together and leaning his chin on the tips of his fingers, "Good. Yes. Interesting. But what I was actually going to say, was... green. Well, green-ish." 

He flapped at his face in order to clarify that he was talking about her complexion.

Clara squinted in disbelief at the Doctor and shook her head, struggling to process his rather garbled question.

"Come again?"

Oblivious to her confusion, the Time Lord continued, "A sort of... asparagus colour. Or no, wait... perhaps a 'mantis' green. Not that I'm saying she's a giant insect but... ohhhhhh, wouldn't that be exciting, eh? Giant insects. It's been far too long since I've come across any of those beauties!"

His expression of reminiscence was somewhat alarming to Clara, who stared up at him in utter confusion.

"Right. Yeah," she agreed with a shake of her head designed to dismiss the rather terrifying imagery the Doctor had invoked.

"Doctor, what the bloody hell are you talking about?" she hissed desperately.

Undeterred from his train of thought, the Doctor dug into his waistcoat pocket and produced his sonic screwdriver, glancing toward the bedroom door to check for Linda's whereabouts before the sound of a familiar high-pitched buzzing filled the air.

"Green, Clara, green!" he reiterated excitedly, holding up the screwdriver as it scanned for readings.

Clara's eyes widened in horror and she swiped his arm down quickly before holding it under the table.

"Oi!" she hissed, pausing to offer a smile to Gran, who cast them a cursory glance before returning her attention to the image of the Queen on the TV.

"Will you put that away before someone sees it?!"

Unsuccessfully attempting to wrestle Clara off him, the Doctor shook his head.

"No, no, no. Clara, you don't understand. There's something..." he turned his head to peer cautiously down the hall, "very, very strange about that woman."

"Yeah, I know. I told you that, remember?!" she snapped, lowering her voice to barely a whisper as she continued to try to remove the sonic from his grasp as though she was confiscating a toy from a toddler.

"Clara! Stop that!" the Doctor attempted to swat her away gently, his expression somewhat shocked as he added, "you are freakishly strong..."

With a triumphant grin, Clara finally succeeded in plucking the screwdriver from his hand, and promptly pulled forward the neck of her jumper in order to allow her to slip the sonic into her bra.

The Doctor spluttered, his eyes round and his expression aghast as he regarded Clara.

"You can't just..." he began, flailing in her general vicinity as he found himself unable to articulate a full response.

"Just did," Clara bit back, shaking her head as she rose from the table and pushed back her chair. A second later, she pointed a finger at the Doctor in warning, her expression declaring that she was not to be trifled with.

"Now, you listen here," she stated, lowering her voice in order to prevent her grandmother from overhearing her, "we are having a nice, normal Christmas dinner, in my nice, normal flat, with my arguably nice, normal family. Nobody is green, nobody is a giant insect thing, and nobody is going to start waving around sonic screwdrivers during dessert."

The Doctor swallowed, shifting his gaze to the table top and pursing his lips as he gave a conceding nod.

"Good," Clara replied, a satisfied smile weaving its way across her lips as she added, "now, I'm going to check on Dad, you keep Gran company."

Tutting to herself, Clara disappeared into the hallway and quickly drew to a halt outside her bedroom, relieved to hear the sound of her father and step-mother talking in low tones through the closed door. Negating to knock, considering it was her flat after all, Clara pushed open the bedroom door and strode into the room.

"Do you need anything in he..."

Abruptly, Clara trailed off as she was greeted by the sight of her remarkably asparagus green coloured step-mother sliding her elongated fingertips inside her father's cranium. Although Dave Oswald did not so much as utter a sound, Clara certainly screamed for all she was worth.


	3. Chapter 3

Clara could hear her own screams tearing through the silence, urging her to flee, yet she found herself rooted to the spot and unable to do anything but voice her horror in the most blood-curdling yell she could muster.

A few seconds later and she managed to finally shout for help in a more coherent manner. Her frenzied cry of 'Doctor' came just as he skidded to a halt beside her.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, grimacing as he extended a finger toward the creature who was staring at he and Clara, a clearly predatory look in its black eyes.

"Oh? What do you mean 'oh'?" Clara replied, bordering on the verge of hysteria as she watched her father slump to the floor in an apparently lifeless heap, "Doctor, do something!"

"Well, now in fairness, Clara, I did bring this up before," he began, grabbing her hand and pulling her backwards as the alien advanced upon them, tentacles thrashing in the air.

"Dad?" Clara shouted, looking desperately toward him until she found herself quickly distracted by the sight of the Doctor's hand, hovering uncertainly around her chest. He inched closer and then hurriedly withdrew, as if some unseen forcefield prevented him from moving any closer.

Catching her thoroughly bemused, not to mention irritated, expression, the Doctor gesticulated toward her chest with urgency, "The sonic! I need the sonic!"

"Oh, right, well why didn't you say so?" Clara demanded, her eyes impossibly wide. The Doctor frowned but refrained from comment, instead waving one hand emphatically at Clara.

However, as she prepared to reach into her top to retrieve the screwdriver, which would undoubtedly prove to be their saviour, Linda lurched forwards with one deformed hand outstretched, and vicious tentacles whipped out towards Clara from where her fingers should have been. The sharp ended tentacles struck her cheek, making a wet, squelching sound and succeeding in drawing blood. Clara let out a yelp and tumbled backwards, striking the wall but remaining standing. Thanking heaven for small mercies, Clara slid down the wall, making her way through the hallway and towards the lounge.

Tripping over his own feet in his frenzy to reach his assistant, the Doctor called out, "Don't let her get her tentacles near you! She can erase all your memories with a single..."

He trailed off and let out a yell as the aforementioned appendages shot out towards his skull. However, he ducked at the last moment and they instead plunged into the plaster of the wall above him.

"I wasn't planning on it, thanks all the same," Clara yelled back, finally grabbing hold of the Doctor's arm and racing down the hallway, her 'step-mother' in hot pursuit. As they made their escape, Clara jammed her hand up her jumper and pulled out the sonic from where it had been secured beneath the shoulder strap of her bra. She slapped it into the Doctor's outstretched palm as she backed up into the table, her eyes trained on the creature that had once been Linda as it rounded the corner.

"I don't believe it... my stepmother is an alien," Clara stated, shaking her head at the absurdity of the situation. The Doctor chuckled, amused by her unwitting pop culture reference, before he directed his screwdriver at Linda and jabbed a button, listening intently for the readings it would provide.

"Oh my..." he gulped, eyeing the screwdriver apprehensively despite the fact that an asparagus green alien with ten wicked tentacles continued to advance, her black eyes occasionally obscured behind the two sets of eyelids that blinked across them.

"Doctor, what do we do?" Clara hissed, shooting an incredulous look towards the sofa, where she noted Gran had settled herself with the remote in her hand as she attentively watched the Queen deliver her Christmas speech. Gran appeared not to have noticed the drama unfolding behind her, for which Clara was truly relieved.

"She's a Klaxapatarian," the Doctor revealed, glancing at Clara as though the name should instantly mean something to her.

"That's lovely," Clara replied, her voice rising an octave as she added, "and how do we kill one of those?"

The Doctor appeared perturbed, shaking his head as he gently chided her, "You know how I feel about violence. Perhaps we could just subdue her somewhere in a cupboard?"

"Doctor!" Clara shrieked in frustration and mild panic, sidestepping deftly as Linda the Klaxapatarian suddenly lunged for her. "I don't think she's very receptive to that idea!"

Clara yanked a blouse from the radiator behind her and use it to shield her arm as the monster continually dove at her. She shot the Doctor a pointed glare, and he sighed as he realised the futility in his usual policy.

"Right. Yes. Okay." He raised his hands up in front of his face as his brain processed their current options. Finally seizing upon a plan, he spun around on his heel, shouting, "We're going to need that gravy."

Clara grunted in surprise as she was suddenly seized by the wrist and the Doctor propelled her behind him away from the creature's slimy clutches.

"Doctor, this had better be good," she screeched above the snarling and the volume of the TV, which seemed to be increasing by the second. Gran briefly glanced behind her and delivered a pointed 'shhhhh' before she turned her attention back to the screen.

Clara glared at her askance, shaking her head as she considered the absurdity of both Gran's actions and the Doctor's latest plan; and, of course, there was the slightly pressing matter of the alien creature trying to kill, or at least viciously maim, her in her own living room over Christmas dinner.

Moving as quickly as possible, Clara snatched up the gravy jug and placed it in the Time Lord's hand as he jostled the sonic screwdriver at the creature with the other.

He hurled the entire contents at the being's face and observed for only a moment before he turned to throw his arms around Clara, pulling her away from the squealing alien.

"That better come out of my bloody carpet!"

Clara's eyes were wide as she watched Linda thrash and claw at her face, before sinking to the floor and letting out a yowl of terror that made the Doctor's blood run cold with guilt.

"Really Clara, priorities!" the Doctor chided, at once relieved and also slightly ashamed of himself as the creature formerly known as Linda all but melted into a puddle of congealed entrails, that left Clara in little doubt that her landlord would not be returning her deposit.

Her mouth hung open as she stepped out of the Doctor's overtly protective embrace, and she glanced up at him in both amazement and confusion.

"What exactly was in that gravy?"

By the time she had lifted her gaze to his face, his features had settled into a grimace, and he merely cocked his head as he raised both eyebrows as if unwilling to divulge the information, "Dash of this, dash of that."

Clara glared at him, both hands planted firmly on her hips as she tapped one foot against the floor.

"Ah, right, well, in layman's terms, an extravagant chain of sugars, arranged into amorphous semi- crystalline layers, married nicely with amino acids," the Doctor explained in a rush, his wide eyed gaze fixed on Clara's face. She blinked once in surprise, shaking her head slowly to demonstrate her lack of understanding.

"That's what you call layman's terms?" she demanded askance, her lips pursed into a pout of displeasure.

"Starch... Starch and gluten," the Doctor replied simply, "in vast quantities, heated to expand the molecules and create the required viscosity necessary to make the perfect gravy."

Clara blinked slowly again, shocked to discover that she had understood at least half of the Doctor's explanation.

"Wait, are you saying that my alien step-mother is...was...gluten intolerant?" Clara inquired, cocking her head as she peered down at the puddle that had once resembled a woman; albeit a decidedly irritating, nagging one.

Shrugging, the Doctor replied, "I rather suppose I am. It's quite a deadly combination to Klaxapatarians."

"Lovely..." Clara repeated, shock beginning to descend over her features as she continued to gaze at the newest stain on her carpet. Suddenly, her head shot up and she affixed the Doctor with a wild eyed stare, "Dad!"

Clara bolted from the room before the Doctor could utter a word, leaping over the Linda puddle in her haste to ascertain her father's condition.

"Dad! Dad!" she yelped, rounding the corner into her bedroom only to find her father still slumped face down into the carpet. "Doctor, get in here!"

The Doctor dashed down the hall and had just about rounded the doorway to Clara's room when an ear-piercing scream brought him to a sudden halt.

"Clara?"

Clara stumbled backwards from her father's semi-conscious body, her ragged breathing clearly audible.

"That... is not my Dad!" she stammered and pointed a shaking finger across the room toward the floor at the side of the bed, which was obscured from the Doctor's view.

Reaching for the Doctor's hand, she backed up toward him, edging further and further away as a groaning Dave Oswald climbed to his feet and rubbed his temples.

"My head feels all...woozy," he complained as a thousand thoughts and recollections flooded his mind, and he struggled to make sense of either the past or present.

One face dominated his thoughts, along with a suddenly fresh sense of grief that he thought he had long ago conquered. Or forgotten. He wasn't sure which. He wasn't sure of a lot of things in that moment, except that his daughter was standing staring at him like he had grown a second head.

The Doctor was staring at him in a similarly unnerving fashion that made him wonder if he had actually sprouted an extra appendage - after all, stranger things had happened to him on their travels together.

The Doctor?

"Clara, are you alright?" Dave asked, stepping toward her. She recoiled even further away from him, pressing herself into the Doctor's side as though she could hide there.

Swallowing hard, Clara cast a brief sideways glance at the Time Lord, tears now welling in her eyes, "Doctor, who is that man? And where is my dad?"

Receiving no reply, Clara squeezed his hand.

"Doctor?" she repeated urgently.

The Doctor merely shook his head, staring at the imposter who had taken her father's place through wide eyes that communicated shock and something else that almost resembled recognition. Hesitantly, almost as though he was locked in some sort of trance, the Doctor took a step towards Dave Oswald and landed one hand firmly on the man's shoulder.

Softly, urgently, and in evident confusion, the Doctor breathed, "Rory? Is that really you?"

Indeed, standing before them, the Doctor saw what had been disguised all along; a familiar face that evoked such immediate feelings of familiarity, friendship and love that he was almost bowled over by their intensity. Rory's hair had faded from the light, muddy brown he recalled to a steely grey, and the corners of his mouth and eyes were creased by deep wrinkles that marked the passage of many years since their last meeting.

"It can't be," the Doctor whispered, his voice growing thick with emotion as he and the other man regarded each other, both wearing similar expressions of confusion.

"Doctor... I remember you but... Everything else is fuzzy..." Rory murmured, screwing his eyes closed and shaking his head as though to clear it. "I... I can't... What happened to me? I didn't remember but now I do. My face..."

"Perception filter," the Doctor answered without hesitation, reaching forward and unclipping a small, black rectangular box from the front of Rory's trousers. It had been hidden behind the tail of his shirt, which had ridden up during the scuffle, apparently allowing for the unit to become damaged.

"That? No, that's Dad's heart monitor," Clara stated, her voice rising an octave as her panic mounted, "Doctor, what the hell is going on here?"

"It was damaged when you fell," the Doctor continued, still addressing Rory directly. "You've been here all along, right under my nose, and I didn't even see it. How could I be so blind?"

"Why can't I remember everything properly?" Rory demanded, his mouth twisting into a grimace as he slapped a palm to his own forehead in frustration, "I want to remember... Can... Can you help me?"

The Doctor spoke quickly but quietly, his tongue darting out to lick his dry lips as he stated in a rush, "Side effect of a Klaxapatarian mind meld, of a sort. Nasty little tentacles have a tendency of erasing memories and thus allowing the creature to insert whatever they wish in their place. In this case, you forgot who Rory Williams was from the moment Linda had you in her clutches, everything he had ever done or said, and you became Dave Oswald. You became the disguise you had adopted. Without argument, without question and... without Amy."

"Amy," Rory murmured softly, his eyes instantly filling with tears that he made no attempt to brush away. He stumbled sideways and reached behind him to where he knew the bed was located, sinking down heavily before his head dropped into his hands.

"Doctor, what's going on?" Clara pleaded, tears now streaming down her own cheeks, "who is this man... and who's Amy?"

The Doctor turned to regard her, his hands reaching up to gently cup her cheeks as his thumbs tenderly brushed away her tears.

"Oh Clara, my Clara," he said softly, wisps of a smile beginning to form on his lips.

"I found you," he stated incredulously, "this means I found you."

He paused to consider the wonderful, thrilling possibility. He - or his future self, to be more precise - had found her. Just as River said he would.

'The Doctor will find your daughter, and he will care for her.'

"Doctor, you're scaring me,"sniffled Clara, tearing her eyes away from the man sprawled on her bedspread only long enough to meet the Doctor's gaze.

He could feel her pulse pounding rapidly against the side of his hand, and he bent down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"I'm so stupid," he hissed and closed his eyes, pressing their foreheads together, "the clues were there all along. The leaf! How could I not have realised?"

His thoughts briefly settled on the leaf pressed into Clara's book;'the most important leaf in human history', and then to the prayer leaf that had been gifted to a grieving Amy.

"Your favourite book is Summer Falls!"

"Yeah. So?" Clara demanded with a shake of her head, not at all understanding the importance of her reading habits.

The Doctor continued, undeterred, "In the Tardis, in the library, you read my name! You read Gallifreyan. It's how you survived my time stream, it's how River was still connected to you... oh River... you clever girl. You clever, clever girl."

His racing mind settled on the indomitable Professor River Song, and a sharp pain struck his chest. She would exist only in his memory, or perhaps in a parallel universe somewhere - you could never truly count River out.

Of course there was the question of time-lines, in particular, his own. But that could wait, because his newest discovery had completely overtaken his senses, and his hearts had invariably won out over his brain. His Ponds, his wonderful, glorious Ponds, had returned to him, and the woman he'd instantly found himself strangely smitten with was their daughter; Melody- the child of the Tardis.

"Doctor, somebody tell me what the bloody hell's going on, right now!" Clara demanded, staring at him in utter confusion as his eyes misted over and his palms left her cheeks only to snatch up her hands.

"You, Clara Oswald, are what should have been," he said softly, lifting her hands to his lips and kissing the back of each almost reverently.

She closed her eyes as tears pricked behind her eyelids, before she suddenly opened them again to focus first on the Doctor and then on the man sitting on the edge of her bed. Rory looked up at her with a small smile and, for a moment she almost recognised him, as though that exact smile on that exact face had always been watching over her.

She pulled back from the Time Lord and shrugged away his attempts to embrace her again. Clara disappeared from the room, cheeks still wet with tears, and when she returned moments later, she was clutching a mug and a bottle of sherry in her hands.

Flopping down onto the stool in front of her dressing table, Clara glared pointedly at each of the men and filled the cup with a liberal amount of sherry.

"You two... start talking," she commanded before she took a gulp of her drink, wincing as the overt sweetness overwhelmed her taste-buds; but needs must, and Clara had a feeling that she wasn't going to like what she was about to hear.

"And don't leave anything out!"


	4. Chapter 4

The only sound to interrupt the perfect, unnerving silence that had descended over the bedroom was that of Clara beginning to slowly hyperventilate as the Doctor's words wrapped around her.

"So... let me see if I've got this straight... you're saying that my parents... the people I grew up with... aren't actually the people I think they are at all," Clara stated, a note of hysteria beginning to creep into her tone. Her eyes ticked quickly from the Doctor to Rory and back again, never lingering too long on either face as her mind attempted to make sense of all she had been told.

"They're still the same people, Clara," the Doctor explained, gently and patiently, an understanding glimmer present in his eyes, "they were just... wearing a disguise, if you like."

"But I don't," Clara snapped immediately, her upper lip curled in anger, "I don't like. Not one bloody little bit. This is... It's insane! My whole life... Lying to me my whole life?!"

She spun around on her stool to confront Rory, her eyes blazing ferociously in a manner that reminded him so much of Amy that he sucked in a sharp breath immediately.

"How could you?" she demanded, although her voice had grown quiet and trembled horribly, threatening a sudden onslaught of tears.

"We did it to protect you," he replied, his palm covering his face momentarily as previously repressed memories assailed him at a hundred miles per hour. "Everything was always to protect you. At any cost, she said."

"She?" Clara inquired, a little of her hostility melting away as she felt a familiar sense of grief prickle her heart.

"Your mother," Rory confirmed, finally removing his hand from his eyes and meeting Clara's gaze. He swallowed hard before quickly glancing away, unable to hold himself together at the seams as the moment required.

Clara's gaze fell to the floor, and she blinked against the tears that now streamed steadily from her eyes. "I don't... I don't even know what she looked like. My own Mum, I don't know anything about her... not really."

Rory felt his mouth growing increasingly dry, and he swallowed hard against the wave of emotion that had lodged in his throat and kept him on the verge of tears.

"You know everything about her," he said gently, coaxing her to remember the mother who had given up her own existence to keep her child safe, "she was brave, and stubborn, and funny... and... and exasperating sometimes, and clever. So clever. She loved to laugh, she loved adventure. And... she was so beautiful, and so alive."

Rory closed his eyes and brushed his fingertips over his eyelids as his words became his undoing and tears began to flow down his cheeks.

"I've never met anybody who embraced life like your mother did. It was like she had this light around her, like... she made everything better. And she loved you so, so much, Clara. Everything we did... everything she did, it was all for you. To keep you safe. To stop them taking you from us again."

The Doctor found himself growing uncharacteristically emotional and he cleared his throat as an unfamiliar burn signalled that he too was on the precipice of tears. The fate of Melody Pond had always rested heavily on his conscience and his hearts, so knowing that she had been found - that the past had been changed - brought him immense joy and relief. But the terrible fate that had ultimately befallen his friend, his Amelia Pond, was almost too much to bare.

"He's telling you the truth, Clara," the Doctor said gently, "all of it. It's all true."

"Clara?" she repeated, shaking her head as she turned to her dressing table to pluck a tissue from a Kleenex box. Reconsidering her actions, she picked up the box and passed it to Rory, who rewarded her with a watery smile of thanks.

"That's not even my name though, is it?" she demanded, arching a dark eyebrow at her father, who cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"It was my gran's name," he shrugged self-consciously, "we needed to leave our old lives behind and calling you 'Melody'... It wouldn't have seemed right. Not when we'd already lost her once before. It was our second chance, Clara."

"Lost," she repeated in little more than a whisper, "all my life, I've always been so afraid of being lost, of not knowing where I am."

The Doctor smiled kindly, "Perhaps now you know why."

Clara's jaw set in anger and, just when she had seemed on the verge of accepting their somewhat convoluted version of events, her own stubborn nature refused to let her believe and anger overcame her once more.

"The 1980's? You've got all of space and time to choose from, and you decide to live in the 80's? Were the pair of you big Wham fans or something?"

Rory took a moment to blow his nose, wincing at the sound the action made that seemed entirely inappropriate given the serious nature of their conversation.

"He..." Rory nodded over toward the Doctor, " he said we had to go somewhere nobody would ever want to come looking for us, so, your mum said 'what about the 80's?'"

"She had a point, to be fair," the Doctor bobbed his head, his expression betraying his disdain, "I mean, the fashions were scandalous."

Hugging the mug tightly in both hands, Clara mulled over the possibilities for only a moment. When she lifted her head to regard the two men, the ferocity of her gaze instantly commanded their attention even though her tone lacked equal conviction.

"Prove it."

"What?" Rory frowned, looking toward the Doctor, who appeared similarly confused.

"If the woman with the space hair is really me... or I'm really her," Clara winced as she found she couldn't even come close to contemplating that as the truth, "if what you're saying is the truth and I'm really your daughter, and I was born two hundred years in the future on a bloody space station run by some evil cow with an eye-patch... prove it."

Rory opened his mouth, quite clearly poised to protest, but the words died on his lips as he became subject to Clara's narrow eyed, entirely furious glare.

"How?" he inquired meekly, swallowing as he watched anger and sorrow vie for dominance upon Clara's features. Finally, the former won out and she pursed her lips as she turned her attention to the Doctor.

"You're a big shot alien, you help him," she stated, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms, her arched eyebrow almost daring either of the men to protest against her demand.

"It's not really that simple, Clara," the Doctor explained gently, his eyes conveying the sympathy he felt for the young woman whose world had all but been turned upside down during the course of a simple Christmas lunch.

"Yes it is. You own a bloody time machine," Clara retorted, lip curled into a snarl that exposed her teeth, "make it that simple!"

The Doctor paused, knitting his fingers together as he frowned at his companion, who really seemed to have descended into a foul and wholly unreasonable mood.

"The problem is, Clara," he began softly, peering at her through hooded eyes, "if we hopped into the Tardis now and I somehow managed to pinpoint one of the exact moments that would be relevant to proving to you that what we've said is nothing but the absolute truth... the sheer energy that would be exuded from two versions of the Tardis existing side by side would not fail to draw the eye of any and every creature in the universe that had sought to take you away from your parents since the second you were born."

"It could change history... Our entire lives..." Rory added, understanding dawning as he digested the Doctor's words. The Timelord only nodded, his expression regretful.

Clara paused, shaking her head in disbelief as she set her mug down firmly on the dressing table. Her head whipped around and she peered at the Doctor with such startling intensity that he was almost rendered breathless.

"Well, you'd better find a more human way to do it then," she challenged, tilting her chin defiantly upwards as she crossed her arms to punctuate her point.

The Doctor mumbled unintelligibly to himself, and he rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he appeared to mull over her demand. His impossible girl was most certainly living up to her name.

Rory too seemed lost in thought, until he suddenly lifted his head and raised his hand meekly, as if to appeal for their attention. "I know. I know how to prove it."

Leaning in closer toward the Doctor, Rory whispered quietly into the Time Lord's ear and ,when he had finished relaying the basics of his plan, he stood back to watch the alien contemplate his suggestion.

The Doctor instantly seemed to brighten and he released an oddly celebratory laugh as he ruffled Rory's hair with an exuberant hand, "Ah! Rory! Yes. Brilliant. I knew I could rely on you. Good old reliable Rory, that's what we always called you."

"No. You didn't."

Rory attempted to unsuccessfully smooth down his hair, finding that his affection for his old friend was quickly being equalled by a familiar sense of irritation. He'd almost forgotten how simultaneously brilliant and obnoxiously annoying the time travelling alien could be.

"Um... Question," Rory began, folding his arms across his chest as he struggled to make his demeanour more imposing and fatherly, and his gaze shifted between the Doctor and Clara."I know I'm slightly hazy right now, and I was admittedly having my brain sucked out of my cranium by an alien with the unlikely moniker of 'Linda', but... what exactly is going on here? How... Why... I mean... Why are you... and what are you doing... you know... together?"

The Doctor dug a finger down the collar of his shirt and swallowed nervously, "Sorry?"

"You... you said he was your boyfriend," Rory pointed accusingly at Clara, who instantly tilted her head and rewarded his curiosity with an arched eyebrow and a hiss of annoyance that reminded him of her late mother.

"What's your last name, again... Dad?"

Shrinking back, Rory held up his hands to placate her and nodded, in a move that had been well practised when arguing with his late wife.

"Okay. Good point."

"Pond!" the Doctor supplied helpfully, glancing interestedly between father and daughter with this head propped in his hand.

"No it's not. Will you stop that!" Rory protested, finding that almost thirty years later, ' The Ponds' issue was still a cause for irritation.

Suddenly bored with the direction the conversation had taken, the Doctor bent down to adjust his bow tie in Clara's dressing table mirror and smiled approvingly at his reflection.

"Right then, off we go..." his eyes betrayed his enthusiasm, and as he reached out to grab Clara's hand he propelled her to her feet, leaving no room for arguments from his companion or her father.

"Hang on a minute, where are we going?" Clara demanded, scurrying to keep up with the Doctor's long strides as Rory trailed behind, all the while recalling the years he had spent doing just that.

"You'll see when we get there," the Doctor replied, suddenly drawing to a halt that left Clara skidding to a standstill behind him.

Eyeing the pile of bubbling goo that had once been a Klaxopratorian called 'Linda', the Time Lord wrinkled his nose in evident disgust and stepped rather demurely over the mound of entrails.

"Shouldn't we do something about that?" Clara queried, yelping as the Doctor tugged her hand and she was forced to jump over her former step-mother and follow his hurried steps toward her front door.

"Oh, I don't think she can hurt anyone now," the Doctor replied, waving brightly to Gran as she chose that moment to turn around and tear her gaze away from the television screen, where a panoramic shot of the Austrian mountains was slowly coming into view.

"Oooh, The Sound of Music! Lovely!" the Doctor enthused, "Julie Andrews, orphans wearing some rather splendid curtains and the Third Reich, what more could you want, eh? Right. We're just popping out for a bit..."

He gesticulated toward the door, hoping his babbling would ensure the elderly woman had no time to question them.

"Cheerio, Doctor," Gran called out, waving merrily back even as she returned her attention to the television screen and the box of Quality Street tucked down the sofa .

"This is mad," Clara bit out as the door slammed closed behind them and the three almost tumbled out into the hallway.

Rory and the Doctor took the lead, Clara trundling along behind them with crossed arms, a petulant expression and little enthusiasm.

"You wanted proof, young lady, we're going to give you proof," Rory stated, nodding his head as he walked, trying to shake the distinctly disorientated feeling that still clung to him.

"And... and what if I refuse to go, eh?" Clara suddenly blurted out, stopping dead in her tracks in the middle of the hallway even as the Doctor stabbed the button on the wall at the end of the corridor to summon the lift.

"Clara..." Rory stated, his tone softening as he peered down at his daughter, "I'm your father."

Swallowing hard, Clara shook her head, "No... you're not."

Sighing and lowering his head, the Doctor walked hesitantly toward the woman, one hand outstretched. Without much thought, Clara reached out and slipped her fingers through his. She was still beyond furious but the gesture was almost unconscious.

"Clara, do you trust me?" he murmured softly, squeezing her hand gently.

Chewing on her bottom lip, Clara slowly bobbed her head.

"Always."

His eyes shone with unchecked affection, and he raised her hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss against her knuckles before tucking her arm through his.

"Well then, Clara Oswald," he began, his eyes searching her face intently, "time to find out who you really are."


End file.
